Anywhere But Here

by Paul, JL

  “Yeah, sure,” I said to cover my embarrassment. “No, sorry to shoot your theory down but I think it’s something else.”

  “I’ll talk to Reg next period – she usually finds this sort of thing out.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said, faking indifference. I didn’t need anyone at this school thinking I was concerned about my social standing or any other insignificant thing like that. “I need to get to class. Talk to you later.”

  The weird looks continued in my Calculus class and every class after and by the time lunch rolled around, I was completely paranoid. I hurried to my table, not even bothering with food, and waited anxiously for Reg to join us. Even though I tried to maintain an air of indifference, I was still curious to figure out what all the hoopla was about. I mean, I’d been here for two weeks – why the attention now?

  “Not eating?” asked Fin as he slipped into a seat next to me.

  “Not hungry,” I said as I searched through the throng of students for Reg’s beanie covered head.

  “Hey, Gina talked to me earlier and she swears she’s not the one who sabotaged your locker.”

  That caught my attention for the moment and I turned completely in my chair to face him. “What? And you believe her?”

  He shoveled a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth as he lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, I think so.”

  My eyes narrowed as my heart cracked. How could he turn his back on me now? Especially after he'd instigated this stupid friendship to begin with?

  “So, you’re taking her side, huh?”

  “No,” he said, his spoon clattering to the table. “Not at all. But I really think she is telling the truth.” He reached for my hand but I snatched it away, tucking it into my lap. “Rena, Gina’s not the type to do stuff like that, honestly.”

  “Whatever,” I said, not believing him in the least. “What did she do – flash a seductive smile? Bat her eyelashes at you? Did she finally get to you? Did you realize that she’s wanted to date you forever and you can resist no longer?”

  “No, Rena,” he said, his eyes beseeching me. “No, not at all. I just know…”

  “And I know how girls like her work,” I said as I pushed my chair back and stormed out of the cafeteria, fuming so hard I was sure smoke was chugging out of my ears. Damn him. Damn me for believing he wasn’t like the other sheep in this stupid, insipid school.

  People stared but it didn’t concern me in the least. They already thought I was a raving, rude lunatic, why not add a little kindling to the fire?

  I heard footsteps behind me but didn’t dare glance over my shoulder. Instead, I started to jog, intent only on getting to my car and getting the hell out of Dodge.

  Tears burned my eyes and threatened to fall to my cheeks but I fought them valiantly as I fled to my car. Detention, suspension be damned! I wasn’t staying here another second!

  I peeled out of the parking lot, still not entirely sure why I was mad, but it didn’t matter. Lately my emotions had been surfing waves that would make any Californian jealous and I had no control over them – couldn’t leash them like I could the anger-demon.

  And my anger-demon was leaping for joy on my shoulder so I gave him free rein. I drove recklessly through town and headed for the interstate. Once I crossed the Indiana state line, I jumped on I-94, taking the Chicago exit. I didn’t worry if Aunt Franki would be mad. I didn’t wonder if my parents would notice that I was home or not. I just didn’t care.

  I pounded on the steering wheel, the tears finally free to fall. They doused the hottest flames of anger and allowed me to calm enough to drop to the posted speed limit and let the miles eat at the rest of my heightened emotions.

  I turned into the peaceful subdivision two hours later and wondered, for the first time, what I thought I was doing.

  All the drives and sidewalks were clear of snow and the houses free from lingering Christmas decorations. Each house was nestled comfortably on large lots and children, just off their school bus, were skipping happily toward home. It painted a sweet picture of a close knit community – except for the last house on the corner -the dull house with packed snow still in the drive and the blinds drawn tight.

  Home sweet home.

  I parked behind my mother’s car and stepped out, my eyes drinking in the dead leaves poking out beneath the snow in the gutters and the sloppy, slushy walkway to the door. I was an idiot for coming home – nothing had changed.

  As soon as the door closed behind me, Mom rushed into the entry way, her aging face full of hope, but her eyes landed on me and the disappointment took over as her shoulders slumped.

  “Rena, honey, I wasn’t expecting you.”

  Of course not. She still thought Camille would stroll through the door at any given moment.

  “Sorry, Mom,” was my automatic reply. What was I doing here? Did I expect comfort because life was hard? If I did, it wouldn’t get it here.

  She drew me into her arms for a brief, cold embrace. “Um, how are things with Franki?” she asked as if I was a mere acquaintance she hadn’t seen in ages.

  “Fine,” I said. “I missed you and Dad so I thought I’d come home for the weekend,” I lied. “Is that okay?”

  “Of course,” Mom said, absently hugging me, her mind obviously moving on to something else. “Oh, do you want to see the new posters? I think they’ll bring in some fresh information.”

  “Sure,” I mumbled as I followed her into what used to be our den.

  My sister’s dimpled smile greeted me as her face covered every inch of the walls on posters with information about her under the bold heading of “Have You Seen This Child?” It was enough to sink me even further into despair and I again questioned my reasoning for coming home.

  “What do you think?” Mom asked, unrolling a poster that I hadn’t seen before. It contained a different picture – a full bodied shot of Camille that had been taken a week or so before she’d gone missing. My heart ached for the little girl that had once wanted to be like me and I fought tears, knowing I had no right to cry. How dare I feel sorry for myself when my sister had suffered or was still suffering things I could never imagine and never wanted to imagine? Suddenly, my struggles and roller coaster emotions paled.

  “They’re great, Mom,” I choked as I turned and made for the staircase. “I’m just going to go freshen up and stuff,” I called over my shoulder as I took the stairs two at a time. I found my room and fell on my bed, staring at the ceiling. My thoughts strayed to Fin and what he must be thinking now. A twinge of guilt crawled up my throat but I swallowed it quickly. If he wanted to be my friend so badly then he should have my back and not take the word of some jealous, spiteful little wench.

  I dozed off, still unfairly angry at Fin, and didn’t wake until something shook my shoulders.

  “Rena?”

  I opened my eyes and found my father’s brown ones peering at me in concern.

  “Daddy,” I said as a smile found its way to my face. I sat up and threw my arms around his neck. His answering embrace wasn’t as warm as I would have liked but I would take whatever he was willing to give. “I missed you.”

  “Why are you home, Rena?” he asked as he drew back. “Is everything alright?”

  “Yeah, I just wanted to see you and Mom.”

  “You should have called, honey,” he said as he perched on the edge of my bed. “Not that I don’t want you here because I miss you, too, but your mother is all in a tizzy because we’re supposed to attend a dinner tonight to raise money for the Missing Children Foundation. We didn’t know you’d be here this weekend.”

  “Dad,” I said as the familiar blanket of guilt wrapped around my shoulders. “I am fine being here alone. Don’t worry about me.”

  “I know, honey,” he said. “But I hate to leave you when you’re here for the weekend.”

  Studying him seriously, I noticed how much older he appeared. He was only in his mid-forties but he looked as if he’d aged a decade. His once tidy hair w
as messy and thinner and lines had popped out all over his face. His eyes were dull and his lips seemed to be permanently turned down into a frown. And the struggles in those eyes were only apparent to me. I knew he didn’t want to blame me and I also knew that I deserved it. My returning home only brought more pain on those that I loved. What had I been thinking?

  “Maybe I should just go ho….um, back to Aunt Franki’s,” I mumbled, dropping my gaze. “I should have called or something.”

  “No,” Dad objected. “Franki called while you were resting and I told her you were here and that you’d be back Sunday night.” He tried to smile as he squeezed my arm. “Stay, honey, please.”

  I couldn’t deny him, even though I doubted that I’d see him much. “Sure.”

  I stayed in the dark house after my parents left and wandered through the rooms like a restless spirit searching for a soul to haunt. I passed my sister’s closed bedroom door numerous times but couldn’t find the courage to turn the knob. I’d already sought out her most precious treasures before I had left the first time and they were currently stashed in my orange bedroom at Aunt Franki’s house.

  As I sat in the kitchen that night, contemplating the liquor on top of the refrigerator, I wondered if should contact any of the people that I had once considered friends. Tiara was out of the question as I was sure I’d only make her uncomfortable. And I didn’t have numbers for the ‘friends’ I’d made that had consoled me with alcohol. We’d never been that close.

  Almost without thinking, I climbed on a chair and grabbed a bottle of vodka from the top of the fridge. It was nearly three quarters full with half an inch of dust on the lid, so I figured it was safe. Dad must be feeding his alcohol habits outside of the house.

  I filled a glass nearly halfway and dumped some soda on top before retaking my seat at the table. I sipped my drink with a queer smile, pretending that I was sitting in an elegant cocktail bar with famous people all around me. Life was normal – somewhat – and people were chatting with me, not in the least bit fussed about my family.

  When my fantasy faded, I once again found myself in the dim kitchen, my glass empty. I refilled my drink, the alcohol already dimming my thoughts, and slurped at it noisily. Before I could get too sloppy drunk, I twisted the cap tightly and stuck the bottle back on top of the fridge. Although my parents barely noticed me anymore, I did think that a drunk daughter would garner a lot of attention – and not the good kind.

  I finished my drink, washed out the glass, and stuck it back in the cabinet. I stumbled my way downstairs to the rec room and collapsed on the sofa.

  I almost wished I’d had Damon’s or maybe even Fin’s cell numbers as the silence closed in on me. It unsettled me that I hadn’t a clue where I wanted to be or where I belonged. It really sucked and I hated that I wanted nothing more than to be normal. Why couldn’t I wish and pray for my sister’s safe return? Why was I only thinking of myself again?

  Because you know deep in your heart that Camille is gone forever, the ugly voice inside of me said. I cursed it aloud, shivering to the point of nausea. That stupid voice was the one that chased me away from my family to begin with and I didn’t need it to start taunting me again.

  The vodka soon worked its magic and knocked me into a dreamless sleep.

  I woke early Saturday morning and made my way to the kitchen, a dull thud in my head. I shuffled through the cupboards but the place was empty of cereal or any other breakfast food. Except toast. I popped some bread in the toaster and wrapped my arms around my body to shield it from the chill of the emptiness. I still could not believe that my huge house – the same one that had once been full of laughter from friends that were always welcome - was now so silent and cold.

  As I buttered my toast, it unnerved me that I was so confused on where I should be. Shouldn’t I be home with my parents who needed me or should I be with Aunt Franki and trying to live a new life? And why was it up to me to decide? I was only seventeen, for crying out loud. Wasn’t it up to my parents to decide what was best for me? Granted, making big decisions was all part of growing up, but this one was too huge for me to handle on my own.

  Then another thought began gnawing at my conscience; had I been too hard on Fin?

  The answer to that question was easy enough: yes. Yes, I’d been horrible to him again. He’d only been honest with me – hadn’t agreed with the way I’d been treated. He’d only been trying to help, that was all. Yet, I’d let the anger-demon get the best of me and allowed my swirling feelings to collide.

  Sighing, I realized that I owed him another apology.

  I nibbled on my toast, not wondering why no one was about. I knew Dad had escaped to the office – even though it was the weekend. And Mom, well, she was certainly in the den, working on new posters or in one of her chat rooms, exchanging information with other parents whose children were missing.

  Never mind the ones who were still around.

  Terror and humiliation struck me with that thought. How dare I be so selfish? How dare I expect special attention from my parents just because I was here and Camille was not? Who did I think I was? And I’d once accused Fin of being arrogant. That was the pot calling the kettle black for sure.

  I hated myself. I absolutely loathed the person that I was and no amount of counseling with Roberta would change it. None.

  My cell rang, startling me out of my thoughts. It was Franki.

  “Hi,” I said without much luster.

  “Honey,” she said in a gentle voice. “Damon and his friends have been here. Ian Finley has been here. What is going on?”

  “What did you tell them?” I panicked.

  “That you had to go home and see your family, that’s all,” she said.

  “Oh.”

  “The school called and said you’d missed your last classes,” she continued. “But I told them you were ill and called me. They said next time go see the nurse, first.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “I won’t cover again, Rena,” she said in an unusually firm voice. “I want you here with me and I’ll help you, but I won’t lie.”

  “I just…freaked,” I tried to explain in a feeble, weak voice. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know, sweetheart,” she said. “That’s why I wanted you here. That’s why I wanted you to see Roberta. I want you to get help. I don’t want you living with some sort of ridiculous guilt.”

  I wanted to rail against her and try to explain that the guilt wasn’t ridiculous but I knew I wouldn’t get through to her. She believed in me for some unfathomable reason. And she obviously loved me, which was more than I could say for my parents at that point in time. So, it was a little clearer where I needed to be. That didn’t necessarily mean I belonged there – just, needed to be there.

  “I’ll be…home…in the morning,” I said tearfully.

  “Okay,” she said and hung up.

  I moped about the house all day while my father remained at work and my mother locked herself in the den, typing furiously on the computer while maintaining a vigilant eye on the telephone. I’d tried to sit with her, looking over her shoulder and feigning interest in her new online friends. She’d regaled each of her friends’ stories – the horrors they, too, were dealing with in the search for answers to what had happened to their children. It turned my stomach and was more than I could bear so I made an excuse about seeing old friends and left her to her world.

  I drove around listlessly, perusing my old haunts but hiding when I’d see a classmate or someone I recognized. I didn’t want conversation but that big house in the neat little subdivision was suffocating me.

  I left Sunday morning without any sort of fanfare - without even a mere goodbye. My parents were too wrapped up in denial to notice their other daughter packed up more belongings and pulled silently out of the driveway.

  No, I didn’t belong here, either.

  Chapter Eight

  The swirling snowflakes that melted once they hit my windshield did not delight
me as usual on Monday morning. I parked behind the school and trudged inside full of dread. I didn’t want to face Fin because then I’d have to give him the apology I owed him when I didn’t even want to speak. I just wanted to curl up deep inside my body and let guilt and despair swallow me whole. What right did I have to live any sort of life when Camille was out there somewhere – dead or alive?

  I barely noticed the pointed looks and veiled whispers as I visited my locker. My apathy toward the school and the town returned so that I could disappear behind my shield of not caring as I shut my locker and concentrated only on the first class I had to endure.

  “Where were you all weekend?” Fin demanded as he grabbed my arm and spun me around to face him. Something in my expression or in my eyes must have softened him because his hold gentled and his face fell.

  “Home,” I muttered as I wrenched free. “Sorry, again. I was wrong. Um, I have to go.”

  But he wouldn’t let me off that easy.

  “Rena, what is going on?”

  I stopped to glare at him. “Look, I’m not interested in getting revenge on Gina or whoever put the syrup in my locker and I think I was right in the first place when I said I didn’t need any friends. So leave me alone, okay?”

  He shook his head fervently. “No, I’m not going to leave you alone. Something is so wrong with you and I want to know what.”

  “It’s not your business,” I said in an even tone. “Now go away.”

  I turned my back on him and headed to Calculus.

  “Rena!” he called but I only waved over my shoulder.

  I made it through the morning with only minor incidents – I hadn’t cut any of these classes on Friday. I was still somewhat aware of the whispering going on around me but I couldn’t muster enough energy to care.

  When lunch rolled around, I played the coward and hid in my car until it was time for Creative Writing. I couldn’t ditch again so I reluctantly reentered the school and went to class.

  Fin ignored me when he took his seat and for that I was grateful.